Like Tears in Rain
by Yakaji
Summary: Some moments define who we are. Some moments set the course for our entire future. Some moments mean more than an entire lifetime before them. But in time, all those moments will be lost, like tears in rain. /Oneshot Collection\
1. Hands

Klaud Nine considered herself an inherently practical woman.

She didn't mince words. She didn't regret things she couldn't control. She cried when she was sad, yelled when she was angry, and laughed when she was happy – and that was the end of it. She didn't let emotions fester inside her, because it never did any good.

That's what she told herself, anyway. And it was almost true.

The Vatican Staff was gone now – they had left shortly after escorting Allen Walker out of the room. She was alone with him, for the first time in years. His couch was just as she remembered it: just soft enough to be comfortable, just stiff enough to be resilient. She had so many memories of this couch, and they all started the same way. They all started just like this.

The smooth, cold leather of Cross Marian's gloves teased over the skin of her back like a feather. It took all her control to keep her hands from shaking. If they trembled even a bit, it would disturb the wine she held and he would be sure to notice immediately. Klaud Nine would never let Cross Marian know how she felt when he touched her.

Cross Marian loved things, not people. He loved his wines, and his cigarettes. He loved money, and all the pleasures money could buy. And, most assuredly, he loved making love to Klaud Nine. Klaud knew her own talents well enough to be sure of that.

But Cross Marian did not love Klaud Nine, not the woman, not any more than he loved a bottle of wine or a fine unlit cigar. Cross Marian only loved what he could possess.

His gloved hand grabbed the tiny zipper on the back of her open-necked blouse, and he unzipped it slowly. She had worn an especially tight blouse for her trip to his room, and she could feel the cold, metallic zipper sliding down her spine, sending chills through her. Again, she held her hands steady.

Cross slipped his other hand into her hair, and the leather of his glove tugged uncomfortably. He leaned in to kiss her, and as their lips met, he turned her body away from him, exposing her back. His gloved hands massaged the muscles of her shoulders as she finished her wine. She set the glass back on the table. Her hands were still steady as a rock, and she felt proud of herself for that. Longing and anxiety gripped her stomach like twin pythons.

Cross removed the blouse deftly, exposing her breasts. He pulled her backward with one hand until her head rested in his lap, staring up at him. She kept her expression calm and unreadable. Lau Jimin, now perched atop the back of the couch, chittered nervously.

Cross poured himself another glass of wine. He held the glass in his left hand and swirled it, admiring the legs of the vintage. His right hand strayed to her exposed chest, and still-gloved, it began to caress her breasts.

Klaud had never lost her amazement at the skill with which Cross could touch her. In all their years of lovemaking, he had never once removed those gloves. And even as she longed to feel his hands touch her, skin against skin, she had never once begrudged him what caresses he gave. Even with those leather gloves, Cross was more sensuous, more provocative with his fingers than any other man she had ever known.

She folded her hands over her stomach and closed her eyes. Still, her hands didn't tremble.

Klaud heard him drink from his wineglass. It was a sound distinctive to Cross Marian, like the sound of an indrawn breath echoing against glass. He drank wine as it was meant to be drunk, pulling it across his palette with the air in his mouth, savoring the bouquet even as his tongue bathed in the mixture of sweet and bitter. He did not sip, the way Tiedoll often did. He did not slurp, as Winters was prone to do. He drank. He drank wine in the same way that she drank in his touch.

His fingers had found one of her nipples, now, and they pinched at her gently. She calmed her breathing, but she could hear Lau Jimin chittering more excitedly now. She would not betray her feelings to him. Cross Marian only loved what he could possess, but she would not let herself be possessed by him. There were some things not even she could endure.

As if in response to her thoughts, he whispered suddenly. "I love you, Klaud Nine."

Her hands wanted to shake. Her whole body wanted to shake. She refused to let it. Lau Jimin shrieked, and she couldn't tell if it was anger or excitement anymore. This was a new tactic, one Cross had never used on her before, but she refused to let it affect her. He loved his games, but this was one game he could never be allowed to win.

* * *

Cross Marian smiled to himself as he carried Klaud Nine to the bed. Her arms were wrapped around his shoulders and her face was buried in his neck. She didn't tremble in the slightest. It was more than he could say for most women. By now, most women would have dissolved into helpless trembling. Lau Jimin continued to screech quietly on the couch.

One day, he thought he would have to remove his gloves for her. Just for the sake of the game, for the sake of distracting her. Cross loved to taunt her, loved to make her think he was trying to break her resolve. She had worked so hard to create that thin shell that kept him from touching the person inside. She was a prize like no other, to be able to resist him so well when other women melted at the touch of his lips.

It was so much fun to play the game with her, even if he had already won all those years ago. It simply amused him to keep playing.

He had won the day she told him that Lau Jimin was a parasitic innocence.


	2. In the Darkness

In the darkness, it began again.

His teeth bit into the soft, pink flesh of her neck. He felt repulsed by what he was doing, and at the same time excitement tingled along his spine like a wave of electricity. His eyes closed, and he breathed against her skin.

Droplets of blood began to well up where his teeth had broken through the surface. They grew slowly, and he could see them like little red jewels in his mind's eye. He sucked gently, and the blood welled into his mouth. It tasted of salt and iron, and life. She moaned, and reached up with one trembling hand to stroke his hair.

He felt the life from her surge into him. It filled his veins. It filled his mind. He drank it in, and it consumed him. It was different from any other blood: not bitter like human blood, but not like the rest of her kind either. It was special to him. It was a taste he would never, could never forget, so distinctive. He sucked harder, and he heard her moan.

His teeth bit deeper, and now the blood flowed freely. He drank from it like a fountain, and he heard her breathing deepen in response. The blood was everything. A trickle of it escaped his lips and ran down her bared shoulder, leaving a trail of crimson wetness. And now her moans of pleasure ceased. There was a single cry of pain, piercing the darkness all around, and it rang in his ears like the bells of a church, announcing a funeral procession for all to hear. One single cry of pain, and then anxious, fearful whimpers.

"Arystar? Arystar, you're hurting me." Her voice sounded hollow, insubstantial, as if the blood he drew from her veins had been the only thing binding her to this world. The trickle on her shoulder became a rivulet, became a cascade, and he was no longer able to drink it all in.

He pulled his mouth away from her, crying now, and lowered her gently to the ground. He sobbed, as she lay bleeding, her head cradled in his lap and her eyes growing glassy. He could only force out one word, her name.

_Why?_ The thought echoed in his head, over and over. _Why? Why, why, why?_ It echoed, shattering into so many pieces. Why didn't you stop me? Why did you have to die? Why can't I be with you anymore? Why do I have to keep living?

She touched her shoulder with her hand, and it came away red. She held it in front of her eyes, examining it like something dead and beautiful. "So this is blood."

He sobbed again, and his throat caught, his breathing stopped. He wanted to die with her, to join her wherever she was, but then his throat groaned open and air filled his lungs, and he knew the truth of their parting.

She reached up with her bloodstained hand and laid it alongside his cheek. She opened her mouth to speak, and then her eyes glazed over and her hand fell away, leaving a dark smear on his face. He sobbed, and his body shook with the force of it. He sobbed, and the pain seemed to last forever. He sobbed, and the world seemed to crash down around him.

In the darkness, it began again.


	3. Extreme Measures

They were at it again.

Lenalee sighed. She looked longingly at the writhing blankets across the campfire from her. She heard Allen giggle, and jealousy welled up inside her. What were they doing over there? It had been like this every night since they'd left headquarters, and every night the feelings inside her had just gotten stronger, just gotten harder to bear.

She turned her head away from the blanket, and her eyes met Kanda's for a moment. Had he been looking too? She blushed and turned away from him.

A quiet moan escaped from beneath the blankets. Lavi's moan. Lenalee felt excitement and shame rising together in the pit of her stomach. Lavi's moan. Whatever Allen was doing to Lavi, he was enjoying it. Whatever it was Allen was doing, Lenalee was sure she could do it better. She could be the one making Lavi moan. And he could be the one making her... Unconsciously, she slid her hand down her chest and settled it between her legs.

"No, Allen, not like... Nngh... Aaaaaaahhh..." Lenalee bit her lip anxiously. "Oh, yeah, just like that..." Four nights of this. Four nights in a row. She could already feel herself starting to get wet. They would be at this for another hour, at least. She didn't know if she could endure it again. Another hour of this, another hour of imagining Lavi and Allen... The way their hands... The way they... She slipped her hand inside her skirt and began to rub herself slowly, closing her eyes. A soft moan escaped her own lips.

She let the images fill her mind. She let the sounds wash around her. Lavi groaning, Allen giggling. The smell of the campfire and the feeling of warmth within her were everything. Lavi said something, and Allen responded in a low growl. Someone coughed behind her.

Kanda.

Blood flooded into Lenalee's cheeks. Kanda was right behind her. He could probably see exactly what she was doing. Waves of embarrassment crashed over her and she withdrew her hand, turning to see if he'd noticed her.

Kanda's eyes were trained on the blankets across the fire as well, and his own cheeks were as red as Lenalee's. He had a glazed look in his eyes, which was very unlike him. Kanda almost looked like he was lost in a dream. Lenalee's gaze drifted downward, down his chest to where his hands rested in his lap and...

Oh.

A thought occurred to her. Under other circumstances, she'd never consider it, but she NEEDED something to take her mind off of the- Lavi groaned again, and the sound sent chills up her spine.

"Ummm... Kanda?"

Kanda jumped in surprise at her voice. His hands scrabbled in his lap, trying to hide the telltale bulge in his pants.

"Oh. It's getting late, Lenalee. Maybe we should go to bed early tonight. You know, get an early start tomorrow." How unlike him. Kanda always ordered, never explained.

Lenalee crawled across the pebbly ground on her hands and knees, coming closer to him. She couldn't believe she was considering this. She couldn't believe she was actually going to...

"I think we should go to bed, too, Kanda. I think we should... you know... together." Crimson stained her cheeks, and she felt herself grow wet again. _Oh, God, Lavi, why can't this be you?_

"Uh... Lenalee, I don't really like gi-" Allen gave a plaintive whine from the blankets on the opposite side of the fire, and Kanda's back stiffened. "I mean, it's not that I'm not tempt-" The whine became a deep, empassioned moan, and Kanda's face turned even redder. "I appreciate the offer, it's just that I really-" Allen gasped once, twice, three times in quick succession; and the blankets began to rock back and forth in a steady rhythm.

"Shut up, Kanda." Lenalee threw herself on him, pinching her eyes shut as she pressed her lips to his. _Just pretend. Just pretend he's Lavi. Lavi, you bastard, why can't you be doing this to me instead?_

* * *

Kanda only resisted for a moment. Then, he was ripping Lenalee's uniform off of her as fast as she ripped off his. After four nights of this, over and over, he couldn't take any more. Not that Lenalee was his type, but he had to do something or he'd go mad.

_Just pretend,_ he thought, pinching his own eyes shut. _Just pretend she's Allen. Somehow. Moyashi, you bastard, why can't you be doing this to me instead?_


	4. Three Words

Three words. Three little words. Why was it so hard to say them?

Mahoja had been brave her entire life. Brave when it came to fighting for her comrades, brave when it came to serving the Black Order, brave in anything Anita needed from her. But Mahoja had never been brave for herself. In the one thing that mattered most, telling the woman before her how she truly felt, Mahoja had never been courageous enough just to say those three little words. And now she would never have the chance.

The five exorcists were climbing into the lifeboat, that one last lifeboat the crew had managed to save. Mahoja knew that without the exorcists, she would already be dead. She was grateful for the extra time they'd given her, for the power of Miranda's innocence. But even so, Mahoja couldn't help feeling a pang of resentment. Why did it have to end like this? Mahoja had never shrunk from dedicating herself to Anita-sama, to serving the Black Order, but she didn't want to die. She didn't want Anita to die.

It was all because of that bastard, Cross Marian. If that man had possessed one shred of responsibility, the Order wouldn't have to send exorcists out to hunt him down. If he hadn't taken that ship to Japan, if that ship hadn't been destroyed, Anita wouldn't have been set on finding him herself. If he'd just… If he'd just… _Damn you, Cross!_

Chaoji boarded the lifeboat, the last of her three surviving crew members. The price, oh God the price of this one voyage. To lose so many good men. To lose Anita. Nothing could justify that price. No good Cross Marian could ever do would be able to pay it back. This was all his fault. This had always been his fault. All of her regrets could be laid at his feet.

_And none of the blame lies with you,_ a voice asked. _Just because Anita cared for him, that doesn't mean she never could have cared for you. That's what this is really about, isn't it?_

A tear rolled down Mahoja's cheek as she watched Anita say her last goodbyes to the men and women on the lifeboat. Anita's beautiful black hair was gathered in a ponytail, locked with the remaining ring her mother had given her. Mahoja would never touch that hair again, would never have the pleasure of brushing it for her mistress, would never again hear Anita's soft moans of pleasure whenever Mahoja massaged her scalp or washed her hair.

There were so many things she would miss, so many things she would regret. But three, above all others. Those three simple words Mahoja could never bring herself to say.

And now it was too late. Mahoja couldn't tell Anita now, couldn't ruin her mistress's last moments. Anita had dedicated her life to serving the Black Order. Anita had thrown her heart at Cross Marian's feet, even if the man had never possessed enough simple decency to notice the gesture. But even so, Anita had always been happy with the choices she made. Anita had no regrets. And Mahoja knew her mistress well. She knew that if she confessed how she felt now, Anita would finally have something to regret. Anita would spend her last moments in pain, wondering what she could have done differently for Mahoja.

Mahoja had made it her life's duty to protect her mistress. And as she watched Chomesuke, Cross Marian's tame AKUMA, pull the lifeboat away from the ship, she fully understood her last duty in life. Anita had to be protected from Mahoja herself. Anita could not be asked to bear that burden, in these last seconds. Mahoja's feelings would die with her, never spoken to another soul.

But if she couldn't say them, at least she could think them.

_Wo ai ni, Anita-sama._


	5. Omake 1

**Author's Note**: I love angst. I really do. But every once in a while, I get the urge to write crack humor. So, to relieve the angstiness of this collection, please enjoy my first omake entry.

* * *

Noise Marie was a large man. Consequently, he liked large things. His room at the headquarters of the Black Order was, to his knowledge, the only room with a king-sized bed. If he were ever to buy himself a pet dog, it would be a Great Dane. When at a party with other exorcists, he preferred to drink his beer directly from the keg.

Right now, Noise Marie was indulging his penchant for large things. Komui had installed new baths for the men of the Black Order, patterned on the Asian style of public bath houses. Noise Marie had heard of public baths before – they had become popular in England a few decades ago – but he had never found an opportunity to visit one. This would be his first time.

Stripping off his clothes in the atrium, Noise set them in an alcove. He opened the sliding door into the bathing area and a fog of steam boiled out to meet him. It was deliciously hot, and Noise could already feel himself beginning to sweat as he pulled the door closed behind him.

Noise Marie also tended to dislike small things. He had never developed much interest in women, for this very reason. They were all so small, so fragile. Noise felt like he could break them like twigs, if he so desired. How could you be attracted to something you could break? No, Noise was far more attracted to men – large men. Winters Sokalo, now there was an attractive man. Built like a rock, and with the body of Hercules. If it hadn't been for Winters' sadistic streak (and the General's unhealthy obsession with blood), Noise might have even developed a thing for the man. But instead…

"Yo, Noise!" Daisya Barry pulled open the door to the baths and sauntered in. "What'cha standin' around for, Big Man? Did you want to try this out or what?" Daisya slapped his hand against Noise's naked butt. Noise grunted.

No one in the Order really understood what had brought Daisya Barry and Noise Marie together. They seemed like polar opposites in many ways. Noise: always quiet, polite, and reserved. Daisya: cheeky, insolent, and usually more concerned with playing tricks on his friends than with completing his assignments well. And there were a few in the Order who had picked up on Noise's… _largesse_.

When Noise didn't move toward the baths on his own, Daisya began shoving at him. Ineffectually, of course – Daisya was far too small to shove Noise around. But the corners of Noise's mouth twitched upward, and he let himself be led. Some Order members probably thought their relationship was strange, yes. But then again, they were all missing one crucial piece of information.

Noise Marie liked large things, and Daisya Barry was hung like an ox.

An extraordinarily large ox.


	6. Bedtime Stories

With the midsummer heat, night in the wagon was tortuous. The sheets twisted around his useless left arm, clung to his skin, damp with sweat. He tried to remind himself that this was still better than sleeping outside like the handlers did. Now that he was a clown, he had a bed of his own. He had half a wagon, shared with his new mentor. He even had more than one set of clothes, and a closet to hang the extras in.

But why did the sheets have to cling so much?

"Can't sleep again?" The wagon was dark, but the voice was so familiar he felt like he could see the speaker anyway.

"…no."

"Would you like it if I told you a story, then?"

"…okay."

The voice chuckled, and he heard a match strike on the other side of the wagon. A small flame blazed to life, and he watched as it bobbed its way into a lantern hanging from the ceiling of the wagon. The lantern lit, and gradually, his eyes adjusted.

Mana snuffed out the match and returned to his bed. Allen's mentor looked so different without the clown makeup on. Where Mana the clown was almost as wide as he was tall, Mana the man was thin and lanky, like a crane whose wings had been clipped.

"What should I tell you about tonight," Mana mused. "'The Pirates of Denmark'? No, I told you about them last week, didn't I? How about 'A Rooster in the Hen Yard'? Or maybe you're a little too young for that one, I suppose. Do you know 'Three Fish for Farmer Brown'?"

Allen nodded. "You told me that one on Monday."

"Well, then, Allen, you've just about cleaned me out. I don't know if I have any new stories I can tell you. Maybe I should just tell one of the old ones again. Or…."

Allen propped himself up on his elbow. "Or?"

Mana was muttering softly, as if debating with himself. He shook his head sharply, and then his eyes pinched shut. Allen couldn't tell in the faint glow of the single lamp, but he almost thought he saw a tear on Mana's cheek.

"I suppose I've never told you about the two brothers, have I?"

Allen shook his head silently.

"Well then. I don't know if I've ever told anyone about the two brothers. I met them, once. A long time ago, a long way from here. It was a different time, then. The world was a different place.

"The brothers were, oh, maybe twice as old as you are know, when one of them got sick. Almost died, truth be told. He was in bed for more than a week. Almost a fortnight. And every night, he screamed like a banshee, like Hell was coming at his heels and it was all he could do to outrun it for a couple more steps.

"The older brother, he did everything he could to help the sick one. He brought cold towels. He fed his brother three times a day. Helped him force down thin gruel, the only think he could eat, so sick as he was. He was sure, the older brother was, that the younger one would die. It was just a matter of time. But until that time came, the older brother would do everything he could to help the younger.

"And then a curious thing happened. In the course of one night, the sickness vanished. But it left the younger brother changed. Not like he was before. He was darker, now. Crueler, in a way – but not to his brother. Not to the one who nursed him through the sickness. And pretty soon after, a man came to see the younger brother.

"Now Allen, you ain't never seen anything like this man. He was round as a ball, and he had a smile wider 'n a barnhouse door. He wore himself a top hat as tall as your waist, and little beady glasses that he kept perched on his nose. The smiling man, he came and he took the younger brother away. But he didn't understand what the two brothers meant to each other.

"For a little while, the younger brother forgot his older brother. He found a new family, of a sort, with the smiling man. The younger brother met other people like him, people who were mean and cruel. So, they were all mean and cruel together. They went around hurting people, sometimes even killing them, and they never thought twice about any of it.

"But although the younger brother might have forgotten his old family, the older brother never forgot about him. The older one, he came looking. At first, he didn't know where to look. Then, once he found out where, the older brother was too scared at first. But eventually, he conquered his fear and the older one set out to find his brother.

"The younger brother's new family didn't take kindly to this intrusion. They caught the older brother, and they tried to hurt him. But when he saw his older brother being hurt, the younger one came back to himself. He abandoned the new family he'd found with the smiling man, and he and his brother escaped.

"'cept the thing is, the smiling man, he never lets go of something once he's got it. He and his family didn't take it kindly when the two brothers escaped, and they set AK… set dogs on 'em, trying to hunt the two brothers down. So the two brothers ran, and they hid, for as long as they could."

Mana fell silent, and when Allen looked at him, the older man had his eyes closed. Allen glared at him. No way. Had Mana really fallen asleep in the middle of a story?

"So," Allen said waspishly. "What happened to them, then?"

Mana sighed, hanging his head. "They died."

Allen felt like a hammer had hit him in the stomach. That wasn't how Mana's stories were supposed to end. What was wrong with him tonight?

"But… but you said you met them, right?" Allen didn't really believe Mana had met them. He didn't really believe any such people existed. It was just another one of Mana's tall tales, like when he said he'd caught a fish the size of Rickard, the strongman. But Allen wanted Mana to make the story end happy, like he always did. "You can't have met them if they died, right? So maybe they're still out there somewhere?"

"No." Mana's voice was flat and cold. "I met them when they were on the run. But they're long dead now. I know. …I saw them die."

Allen pushed himself further beneath the covers, no longer minding the heat. Somehow, he felt suddenly cold. "I don't like this story, Mana."

"We don't always get to choose our stories, Allen. Not every story has a happy ending. I'm sorry." For a moment, Allen had the nagging feeling that Mana's apology was meant for someone else.

"Well… no more stories tonight. I'm going back to bed." Allen tugged the sheet up to his neck with his left hand. It was still damp from his sweat, but Allen found the feel of it oddly comforting.

Mana smiled at him. "Okay, Kiddo. Sorry for the story. Maybe tomorrow I'll tell you the one about 'The Secret Alphabet'?"

"Yeah, sure, whatever. But not tonight."

Mana ran a gentle hand through Allen's hair. Then, quietly, he blew out the candle and returned to bed.


	7. Black

Klaud Nine hated wearing black.

Why hadn't she brought an umbrella? It seemed like such a stupid thing to forget. It rained so often here, at the new headquarters. Of course it was raining. It was always raining now, ever since the day he…. Since that day. It was almost like the world was cryi…

The thought refused to finish.

She picked at the cloth of her blouse distractedly. Wet. Clingy. Uncomfortable. And black. She hated black.

It seemed so quiet here. Even with the crowd of people. Even with the steady patter of the rain. Quiet. Peaceful. No distractions. She was clear-headed. She knew she was.

Klaud's gaze wandered down. Black wooden box. She hated black. Her eyes slid over it, slid off it like the water sliding off its waxed surface. There were people around it. So many people. Her eyes drifted back toward the box, and she snapped them away. Latch onto something. Look at something. Don't look down.

There was Lenalee, kneeling next to the… kneeling on the ground. The girl's face was hidden behind her hands, and her shoulders shook.

_What right does she have to cry over him?_ Anger. _All he ever did was try to seduce her. She should be happy, shouldn't she?_ Klaud felt the cracks widening. Her eyes moved away quickly.

Behind the girl, behind that little trollop, her brother. Even he wore black today. Same coat as always, same little beret, but all in black. She hated black. He rested one hand on the girl's shaking shoulder, but his eyes were hard. Like steel, that one, however much he might pretend otherwise. He knew what it meant to be an exorcist, knew better than most of the exorcists themselves.

A little further on, Tiedoll. Tiedoll was weak. Tiedoll always cried. How could a man like that become a general? Always wearing his feelings on his sleeve. Klaud knew better. Klaud was strong. Her eyes fell to the box again, and the cracks widened a little further. No. Look away.

Clustered around Tiedoll, his students. Big Noise, who looked so much like Winters even if they acted nothing alike. Noise was trying to restrain his master, keep him away from the… the box. His own face looked oddly contorted.

Chaoji was there. Chaoji, whom she hardly knew. He stood a little behind Noise, his eyes vacant. Klaud didn't know if it was because he didn't care or because he didn't understand.

Kanda, too, standing a little to one side. Kanda, always apart from everyone else. He held his arms folded across his chest. He stared at the box, eyes never wavering. Klaud didn't know what he felt. Maybe Kanda didn't himself. She wondered if it mattered.

Beside her, a rustling. The Bookman, standing with his apprentice. The old man turned to go, slipping back through the crowd. He had more important work to be doing, she suspected. Surely they all had something more important to do.

The apprentice, Lavi, ignored his master's departure. Klaud looked up at him, and he met her gaze without hesitation. She felt her lungs draw breath in surprise. He seemed absorbed and distracted at the same time. Respectful and yet… not wholly there. Like he was teasing apart a knot, trying to untangle something in his own mind. He stared back at her. His eyes made her feel uncomfortable, like they were seeing inside her, beyond her. Forcibly, she broke away from his gaze.

Her eyes drifted down again. She picked at the cloth again. Where was her umbrella. Her hair felt so heavy. She felt so heavy. She looked at Lenalee again. Kneeling. Why wasn't she kneeling like that? Another crack widening.

No. She was strong. She was different. Her eyes fled from the girl, sought something else to lock onto.

Three other exorcists. Allen, Krory, Miranda. Her eyes skipped over Allen instinctively. Not his student. Don't look there.

Miranda and Krory stood together. His arm was wrapped around her shoulders, and her arm around his waist. They leaned inward, drawing support from each other, even as their heads bent away. Careful to share comfort. Careful not to share grief.

Allen drew her eyes like a lodestone, and again she tried to force them away. There was Reever, and Johnny, and the other members of the science divis…. Why were they all wearing black? She hated black. It always reminded her of…. _No._

Her eyes drifted to the box. They didn't leave. She watched as the rain fell around it, fell into the hole that had been dug for it. How could he fit in a little box like that? How could he be comfortable in there?

Her dress was so wet. Her dress. Why did she have to wear a dress? She never liked dresses. But her mother had told her to wear them. Her mother had made her wear them. And then her mother had… had…. And there was another black box, and she had worn her dress. Her mother had always told her to wear a dress. Maybe if I wear a dress, Mommy will see and she'll be happy with me again. Maybe if I wear a dress, Mommy will come back.

She tugged at the dress. Wet, it clung to her chest. It clung to her hips. It was so uncomfortable. Why had she forgotten the umbrella?

He had always asked to see her in a dress.

The cracks widened. The world shattered.

The ground was wet. She was sitting on a tangled heap of legs. Arms were clutched around her chest. She couldn't breathe. Her mouth opened, gulping for air. Too much rain. She was drowning. Why couldn't she breathe? Why did her eyes hurt? She felt her vocal cords stretch, strain, so taut they could snap.

"I wore my dress," she tried to whisper. "I want you to see it."

She loved her dress. She was so pretty in her dress. Black was her favorite color.

Why wasn't he there to see it?


End file.
